Despite All Theory
by MustacheYouAQuestion
Summary: Life is a road. It shows you no pity, no mercy; it's only here to drag you alongside it. And Aria is convinced that life is out to get her. That nothing will ever, ever get easier. But maybe there's more to life than dealing with it. Maybe, no matter how hard things get, there's hope. And maybe it only takes one person to prove that. Ezria AU.
1. Chapter 1

**Hi everyone. **

**This story is something I've been working on for a year. The original started out and still is not a fanfiction, but I was excited about it, and I'm passionate about it, and wanted to share it with you all. **

**Warning: this story is unlike anything you've ever read before. It's very AU. It's very intense. **

**But even if at first it seems like it's not going to be Ezria, it will be. If you give it a chance, and at least try and enjoy it, I promise as the Ezria titanic-er I am, that this story will be Ezria like you've never experienced them before. I wouldn't have turned this into a fanfic if it wasn't Ezria.**

**Chapter One is sort of an intro. It's necessary in order for you to understand the circumstances. **

**Even though this story is different, I really hope you enjoy it. This story comes from my heart, and I one day hope that it can help people. So, without further delay, onwards!**

_Ride_

_Chapter 1_

_I've got a war in my mind._

_Hope._

_It's a funny thing, you know. Hope; it spawns so easily, and multiplies faster than germs do. And then, magnitudes of foolish, naïve people have the nerve to say that hope is a good thing._

_But what is good about hope? What's good about submersing yourself into an artificial world that only lets you down in the end? Hope turns into expectations. Expectations turn into an open void of nomadic madness. And when you become a hope-desperate nomad, what's next? What's left? Nothing. Hope destroys you like nothing else virtually can; and if you were to ask me why, well then brace yourself for impact._

_If there's one thing that life has taught me, it's that you can't get by on pity. Pity gets you nowhere other than face first into a second slice of pizza. You can hope people are going to take pity on you, and you can expect people to take pity on you, but in reality, it doesn't happen. People these days don't care; people these days don't pity. People these days are lions at the watering hole; all waiting to drink and not willing to share. People are just bumps along this stupid road we call life._

_But then again, life has taught me many other things as well. The second thing is, and probably the most important lesson, is the blatant fact that life is not going to show you mercy. Life is like the stupid people we share this planet with; it shows you no pity nor mercy nor caring. Life is a road; an endless road. It's only here for you to ride alongside it; to ride with it. It won't carry you, nor will it slow down. Life is life. And for some of us, we can only let it drag us along._

The metallic revolver in my hands was cold, shiny and just _begging _me to shoot it.

I loaded it slowly, a sort of unexplainable _excitement _building up inside of me with every bullet that snapped into place. The way the gun felt in my hands; like it belonged there, was almost enough to propel my arm up and shoot it right then and there. I couldn't wait to hear the sound of it firing, feel the snap of the shot reverberate back up my arm and fuel my already crisp adrenaline. I lived for these moments- the rush and intensity of the danger dawning upon me. I loved the thrill of narrow escape. The heart-pounding, blood-curdling sensation you got as the sound of the sirens rolled into earshot. Not that _that _happened often, no, we got away every time. But the sound of the enemy approaching gave me a feeling that sustained me.

My gun was old; though I considered it nothing short of merely "worn in". It was silver and black with the occasional smear of a sharpie's purple tint. At the top, near the nozzle, was a tiny, hairline crack running for about half an inch down the barrel. The handle had a small chip in one of the grooves that was molded to the shape of my hand, and the trigger was slightly loose, though still made that perfect, crystal snap sound when my index finger squeezed it. Holding that gun made me feel at ease; _safe_. The irony was overwhelming; how something as menacing as a gun- weapon of destruction, of murder, could provoke such feelings of _safety_ within me.

But I guess to each their own, right?

Emily sat in the corner of the room, dressed in faded denim shorts and a ribbed black tank top. Her mask was in her hands, and she was examining it with great concentration. To scare her out of complaining about the theatrical mask I'd chosen, I picked up the second gun off of the bed and tossed it to her.

The pistol didn't make it all the way to her, but when it collided with the ground it set off a loud crash and Emily jumped, letting out a loud yelp in response.

"Aria!" She scolded, her big brown eyes wide with panic. It amused me; her brazen tone. She acted as if I couldn't have had any idea what I'd done. "Are you freaking _delusional_?!"

"It's not loaded, dumb ass."

Emily made a face at me and scooped up the Glock, flicking the hammer.

"Besides." I added, smirking condescendingly. "I wouldn't waste a bullet on you."

She made another face, this one equipped with a dramatic eye roll. She was such a child.

"Where's Spencer?" I asked, peering out the motel-room window from behind the itchy yellow curtain.

"She's on her way with Hanna." Emily sounded irritated. But I couldn't have cared less.

I grabbed my own mask off the bed. It was a full-face masquerade mask, equipped with peacock feathers and messy gold sequins. Tiny particles of the gold glitter dripped off the mask not unlike such as a puff of baby powder, and messed up my clean hands.

It was currently October; the perfect time of the year to buy anything.

Well, anything _we _needed.

Dollar Tree had put out a hefty selection of Halloween costumes this year, _including _the four masks currently in our possession. It made it more than easy to purchase a -_for lack of a better term_- _theatrical _ensemble for cheap. We'd been more than pleased to find the masks at the dollar store for only a dollar a piece. It had saved time, money and broadened the spectrum of consumers. The spectrum of _suspects_.

It was simple. If there was to be even the slightest imperfection in the execution of our, what I liked to call, _financially-refining_ _visitation_, and we were caught on security camera, police would firstly observe our masks. The masks would be identified as Halloween themed merchandise sold exclusively at Dollar Tree, and the only thing the cops would have to do to find their culprits would be to find every person who had bought a Halloween mask from Dollar Tree in Florida, investigate them, and play a little game of Duck, Duck, Goose until they found, yes, their geese.

It was virtually impossible to be identified this way. Ergo, unless caught physically, as in chased, handcuffed and stuffed into the backseat of a cop car, we were destined to come and go as we pleased, scot free. The fact alone put a giddy smile on my lips.

I slid the mask on slowly, savoring the way it fit my face and masked my identity. With a costume I was anonymous; I belonged to no one. No one could ever know who I was.

A costume to me felt the same as a gun. Safety. Or perhaps safety was the incorrect word. Maybe the better word to use would be security.

My prepaid flip phone sat on the bed alongside my gun, and I scooped it up, fingers slipping over the keys. A moment later the dial tone started ringing, and a heavy smoker with his mouth full picked up on the other end.

"Jason." The raspy voice said, clarifying that who was speaking, was in fact the person I'd intended on conversing with. "Who am I talkin' to?"

I smirked. "I think you would've recognized my number by now, Jase,"

Jason. Six-six, twenty-nine years old and sold more drugs than Walgreens. But he had never been busted; no one knew who he was or where he'd come from. No one even knew him by any other name than Jason.

To a stranger or to anyone walking home late at night, Jason was the most dangerous creature to walk the streets of Florida. Not only was he a walking behemoth, but he wasn't afraid of threat. Christ knew how many people had gone through Jason and hadn't awoken the next morning; due to the fact that when it came to his cover, and to his business, Jason was purely incapable of remorse.

And for this, many feared him. Hell, the vast _majority_ feared him.

But I didn't.

I knew how to approach Jason. He wasn't all that hard to figure out. I'd seen so many others like him in my day that it really didn't intimidate me the countless times he'd squared his shoulders and pulled his pistol from his belt. No, Jason played his act well. But like everyone on this earth, he acted more than he didn't. And for that, I didn't fear him. Instead, I felt for him nothing but inevitable guilt.

All he wanted was a place on this earth.

"Aria," He said then, slight enthusiasm in his voice. "What you at, girl?"

"Been keeping myself busy." I chuckled, glancing across the motel room. "But I need help tonight."

"Help," Jason rolled the word around in his mouth like a candy. "With what?"

"Distraction." Was all I said.

He chuckled on the other end, "Pulling another raid, Ar?" He coughed and spat. "Yeah, I think we can manage that."

I might've forgotten to mention that yes, I was also on his good side.

"Thanks, Jase."

I heard him chuckle on the other end. "Signal?"

"Sirens." And with that, the conversation was over and I hung up the phone, snapping it shut.

"You really think we can pull this off?" Emily asked shortly, tone slightly nervous. She slid the now-loaded Glock into the waistband of her jean shorts.

"You don't?"

She scoffed. "This ain't easy, Aria."

"Don't doubt us. It's not a big a store. And I can handle it."

She raised her eyebrow in question. "_You _can handle it?"

"You know what I mean."

Somewhere in the distance, (more like the parking lot), a horn honked impatiently. I threw my bag over my shoulder and pushed the yellow tweed motel curtains aside, peering out the windows. A navy Toyota was parked, and from one of the nearby motel rooms, someone climbed out and ran into it.

At the same time as the Toyota drove away, a red 98' Mustang drove in. A thunderous bass boomed and the car rocked slightly to the rhythm. Some pasty, do-rag-wearing Mac Miller wannabe drove in the front seat, slouched to the side and bobbed his head to the music blaring from the speaker. Spencer and Hanna were in the car as well, looking like the typical stereotype of 'white trash'. Hanna in nothing but jean shorts and a neon-pink bikini top, and Spencer wearing an over-sized t-shirt that she'd cut the neck out of so it hung over the shoulders, over white shorts. The guy in the front said something, then chuckled, exposing his yellow teeth.

Spencer said something; something that made Mac Miller stop laughing, then she and Hanna climbed out of the car. Hanna threw Mac Miller a bitchy wave, then the both girls headed up the steps to our motel room.

I opened the door before they even knocked, then Emily tossed them both their masks.

"You're late." I snapped, not taking my eyes off Mac, who was getting ready to drive away. "And who was _he_?"

"Kako." Spencer said, clicking her own gun into position and sliding on her mask. "Met him a while back. He owed me a favor."

I glared at Hanna. "I thought we agreed on _shirts_?"

"Loan me one."

I rolled my eyes, aggravated. "I also thought we agreed on being _on _time."

"Jesus, Aria. Chill." Spencer rolled her eyes and plopped down on the bed, locking her fingers under her head. "Why are you so damn _uptight_? You aren't _nervous_, are you?"

Emily and Hanna snickered.

"Not funny, bitch." I snapped.

This time even I chuckled at the lightened atmosphere. We always referred to each other as 'bitch' when there was tension, and it always managed to lighten the mood on whatever scale it may have been on before.

Spencer flopped back on the motel bed, letting out a long sigh. "I hate this."

"Hate what?" Emily asked absentmindedly, itching her forehead.

"Everything."

Spencer's answer, however simple, was something that instantaneously hit a delicate nerve inside me. Out of all the girls, Spencer was probably the only one that I considered my best friend; she and I had conquered through so much together it seemed implausible that we'd ever be apart. I loved Spencer like family, and to hear her use words like that bothered me very much. She was a good, good person below the layers of concealment she wore like masks. I didn't want her to be upset.

At seventeen, Kate stood five foot seven and only weighed about one-hundred and fifteen pounds. She flaunted a head of silky brunette hair, and had the most beautiful brown eyes I figured I'd ever see. Despite her abnormally shrunken body mass, Spencer was stunningly beautiful, even without makeup on. Her natural features made her appear so much older than the seventeen year old girl she was.

It would have been a lie to say I knew what had happened to Spencer, and what put her into her current living situation. I didn't pry though; I wasn't someone who personally appreciated being grilled about _why_ I did the things I did, so I never really asked her. The few times that her past had come into the conversation, she'd give some story that was as bogus as Kim Kardashian's ass and then change it midway through. But again, I didn't pry her. She'd tell me if she wanted to.

Emily and Hanna weren't who I considered "friends". We worked together more times than not; and that was great for the time being. But our relationships lasted the length of doing the job and splitting the pay. We were partners, basically. And caring for Emily and Hanna wasn't my job.

Emily was tall; five-nine. She had thick black hair and dark brown eyes, with porcelain honey-colored skin. Her eyelashes were the length of my fingers.

Hanna on the other hand, looked like a washed out Barbie doll. Her hair was hay-blond and her roots were always visible, her eyes were pale blue but normally encircled with purple bags. She wasn't good at maintaining her appearance like Emily was. And I couldn't say that I liked Hanna all too well.

"So," I asked in clarification after the moment had faded. "We all know the plan?"

I earned three nods.

"Jason gonna be the distraction if we get gained on?" Hanna asked and I silently cringed at her pitiful grammar. It wasn't a surprise she failed out of high school.

"If we hear sirens, he'll pull a distraction." I said, slipping on my mask. "But we won't necessarily need him. We don't get caught, right girls?"

I got another three nods.

"Let's bounce."

I couldn't honestly tell you that the gas station/corner store we were about to put up was one boasting immensity. Made of dirty, crackled red brink, the place was an outdated dump; popular only to middle-school kids in the afternoon, and hookers at night.

The yellowy-white neon lights that the store excused as lighting casted a poor glow, darkened furthermore by the overhang that draped above the gas pumps. The open sign was missing the o, which stuck me funny as the word 'pen' blinked over and over.

_Yes, it really was a pig pen._

But pig pen or corner store, whatever it was, I couldn't wait to get inside.

At 3 AM, there wasn't a soul around the store. No gas-consumers, no Dorito-and-root-beer-hungry middle schoolers, no hookers and most importantly, no cops. We had approached it on foot and now stood shoulder-to-shoulder against the side wall, hidden from view of the side wall.

"We all have guns, right?" I asked, clarifying the necessities one last time. It couldn't hurt, could it?

"Right," Three voices rasped in a hushed whisper.

"And if we hear sirens?"

"Run." Said Spencer.

"Grab the money and run." Said Emily.

"Every bitch for herself." Snarked Hanna. Which earned her a hard kick to the shin by my foot.

"Jason's going to create a distraction if sirens get anywhere near us. But that isn't a home free. If we hear sirens, drop everything and run. They can't arrest us if nothing is stolen."

"Breaking and entering?" Emily challenged, bewildered, as if my word were the most ridiculous of things.

I smirked at her naivety. "The door's not locked, pumpkin."

She rolled her eyes.

"We ready?" I asked, exhaling a shaky breath. _Just calm down, Aria. You got this. You've done it a million times before._

"Going in," Declared Spencer, and around the corner we went.

In through the front doors. The store was bright and almost caught me off guard as I burst inside with reckless abandon. But I was used to the heightened senses and heart-pounding excitement. It felt like you were seeing, smelling, hearing and feeling everything as though all the slowed-down sensations were under a magnifier. Every microscopic movement was noticeable, as if just to try and distract you. Every sound sounded terminal; as if it were the end of the line. I felt like I could see everything and I felt like I could slow down the earth. And I loved it all.

"HANDS UP STEP OUT." I bellowed, pointing my firearm towards the now sweating, very anxious man behind the counter. His bald head and oriental features moved in a blur to do as I said, and trembling, he mumbled a plea for mercy.

The boy stacking bananas looked more confused than afraid, but when he noticed my gun aimed straight towards his forehead, he dropped the bunch of bananas and slowly crossed the room towards me.

"Cell phones in front of you."

The two people obeyed, laying their smartphones in front of them, out of reach. I scooped them off the ground and with a sudden burst of strength threw them on the floor, watching the glass iPhone shatter and the other dent beyond use.

"Don't hurt us, please." The man begged. "Or at least let Mikey go-"

I raised my gun again and gave the hammer a flick. "No one's going anywhere unless you're willing to cooperate."

Spencer had already made it to the register, where the clerk had left his key amidst the panic. Hanna was behind me, locking the front door and Emily was behind the two guys, the mouth of her weapon between their heads.

I approached them slowly, heart thumping. "Is there anyone else here?"

The man shuddered and shook his head. "N-no."

"If I find another person here you're going to wish you hadn't lied." I snapped. "Where's the safe?"

"In the back." The kid, Mikey, answered.

"Good boy." I demurred. "You are making this easy for yourself. Now, Mikey, all you have to do is give us the combination. Then we'll leave, and you can go home."

"Don't use him." The man snapped shakily and Emily pressed her gun into his shoulder.

"Shut up." She ordered.

"Tell me the combo, or my partner is going to take care of you." I looked at a very startled Mikey. "Do you want to tell us?"

Mikey nodded, nervously. He mumbled a set of numbers. I smirked.

The next second Hanna and I were dashing for the back, throwing open the door which lead to the back storage room/office. Sure enough, behind the desk was a large steel safe, the big black knob almost coquettishly inviting.

"Two minutes!" I heard Spencer shriek from the front. My pulse quickened and I dropped to my knees.

_47-17-12_

The safe clinked three times and the polarized bars that secured it clicked out of place. The door swung open and behind it sat stacks and stacks of paper.

Hanna and I scrambled; snatching more and more bills out of the safe and stuffing them into our knapsack. Our glove-covered fists collided over and over, and despite the stress of the situation, we managed to clear the safe. Our bag felt like a potato sack.

But all of a sudden, my face drew white and a blast of nauseating adrenaline washed over me.

_Sirens._

I gasped, giving Hanna a look that said, "move".

She grabbed my wrist and point to me a window opposite to us, one that sat above the desk and was just big enough to get through. Hanna turned and released the fire extinguisher from behind the crowded wall. She handed it to me and I threw it, effectively smashing all the glass in the window.

Sticking my fingers in my mouth, I whistled, alerting the girls of the exit. Not a moment later Hanna was on the desk and reaching for the window. She hopped up, balancing on the edge of a trinket box. She pulled herself up and jumped. I pushed Spencer ahead of me, and her small frame allowed her to easily maneuver herself through the window. I'd grabbed her bag in the process.

The sirens grew louder. There was a screeching of brakes.

Before Emily crawled through the window, a thought hit me.

"Where are the clerk and the kid?" I demanded, twisting my body to close and lock the storage-room door. There was a rattling at the front doors.

Emily was halfway out the window when she called out the answer.

"I tied their hands. They ain't going nowhere."

I nodded and then climbed upon onto the desk, hearing the blood-curdling smash of the front door's glass. I was shaking, but stable as I threw Spencer's pack before me and leaped up onto the window. I dropped my pack down to the ground and then jumped, landing on the ground outside with a hard thud. I didn't waste a second. I scooped up the massive bag, slung it over my shoulders and took off, piloting down the road with the others for dear life.

The roads and alleyways were eerily quiet as our feet pumped against the earth. We ran, our destination the hotel down the street with the public washroom where we could hide, long enough to change. The sirens had stopped- and I only prayed one thing. That it was Jason's distraction.

We reached the hotel in ten minutes; our masks already peeled off and dropped into the various storm drains we'd passed. Our gloves followed the same routes, and now we were dressed in only our casual clothing. Well, along with the monstrous two knapsacks.

We hastily made our way into the hotel, taking the route to the bathroom as nonchalantly as possible. We looked like travelers; inner-city kids who got here by bus to stay the rest of the week. We casually made our way to the second floor, as if we had a room there, and one by one filed into the bathroom.

Locking the door behind us, we got to work. Hanna dropped our knapsack and I dropped Kate's. The money was first. And this had to be speedy.

We emptied the money from the bags, and Emily started to count it, mentally evening it up. I got to work digging the change of clothes from the bottom of the bags, and quickly changed out of my shorts and tank top into well, different shorts and a hoodie. I balled up my other outfit and stuffed it into the other drawstring bag I'd brought. Then, changed, I pulled my long auburn hair into a ponytail.

I looked completely different.

Spencer and Hanna had also changed, and were now slumped against the wall, trying to recover from the rush of danger and adrenaline we'd just gone through. But we never got caught. Never, ever.

I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and frowned, wishing for once I could look like Spencer or even Emily. I hated my limp brunette hair, I hated my lips that were always dry, cracked and swollen (a filthy habit of mine was lip biting), and I most certainly hated my eyes. They were big and hazel, and it bothered me that they stood out- my eyes were a memorable feature that I often worried people would remember.

_Sucks to be me, I guess._

"Two thousand two hundred and twenty four dollars." Said Emily suddenly, and a sense of pride enveloped me. That was a nice chunk of change. Almost six-hundred each.

Spencer and Hanna chuckled and high fived. I fist-pumped.

"What do y'all say about renting us a hotel room. You know, as in a celebratory manner?" Emily proposed, standing to stretch her exhausted legs. The four of us bent then, each picking up one fourth of the money we'd stolen. I placed my stacks of bills into my drawstring bag; the bag barely enough room to fit it.

"I don't wanna," Spencer replied sheepishly, refusing to meet Emily's eyes. "I don't want to waste any money on things we don't need."

"Suit yourself," Emily looked at me then. "Aria? You in?"

I glanced at Spencer, then shook my head. "Nah, I have somewhere to stay tonight."

Okay it was a lie, but sometimes a lie was what you were better off with.

"And then there were two," Hanna said frostily. "Come on, Em. Let's check in."

The four of us shared a brief goodbye before Spence and I stood, putting our shares of cash away into the smaller bags I had brought. The others had taken the bag, and I assumed they were going to act as if they were travelers. Hanna, believe it or not was a natural at lying off the top of her head; she could completely convince anyone anything. It deemed useful at certain times.

"You could've stayed." Spencer mumbled as we left the bathroom, heading for either the back door or fire escape, whatever was closer. We approached a janitorial exit and stepped out into the warm, Florida night air. "You didn't have to come with me."

"I refuse to let you stay at that bus stop alone." I said sternly. "You don't know what kind of maniacs are out here."

"I think robbing a store classifies us as maniacs, Ar." She snickered. "I'm not helpless."

A silence ensued as we walked, avoiding the main road. We kept to the shadows, still nervous of the police. As far as we knew there wasn't any evidence, and we had escaped without being seen, but you could never be too careful.

"You're going to see that Fitz guy tomorrow, right?" Spencer finally asked, her voice slightly somber.

"Yeah," I mumbled.

"And he's going to make you fake documents?"

"He helps criminals get out of the country. Canada has better health care and social services. They'll take care of me, eh?" I nudged her and she giggled.

"You're really going, huh," Spencer sighed.

"I have to. Ezra Fitz or whatever his name is, is the best of the best. I have to take the opportunity, Spencer. It's all I've ever wanted."

"I guess so."

We finally came to the edge of the eighth street we'd walked, and I cupped my hands around my eyes. Sure enough, nestled between some overgrown trees was a bus stop; one who's route had been long replaced. They'd left the Plexiglas structure there anyway, though, and it proved to be quite useful.

Spencer and I climbed inside the bus stop, making ourselves comfortable on the bench. There was just enough room for the two of us. I slipped my money bag under my head, trying to relax. I was exhausted.

Just as I was dozing off, I was pulled awake again by Spencer's soft voice coming from the other end of the bench.

"Hey, Aria?" She squeaked.

"Yeah?"

"If and when you do get to Canada, I hope your life gets better than this." It was no secret how she felt about our criminal, but mandatory lifestyle. It came down to stealing and eating, or not eating.

I closed my eyes again, imaging the day I'd close my eyes in a bed of my own, not running from the law, not asking for distractions from Jason. The day I'd be free and happy and not Aria the Convict. I hoped that this Fitz guy could give me that.

"Me too, Spence. Me too."

**The next update will come depending on response. If the response is poor, well there's no point in continuing it. So, if you like it and want me to continue, tell me. If you love it, tell me. If you have any questions, ask me. If you have any ideas, go for it. BUT, if you hate it, please refrain from being mean because this story means a lot to me, and I was nervous about posting it. **

**Please tell me what you think! And I'll update soon. This story is written from top to bottom on paper.**

**-Emily**

**(p.s. I'm HaleStorms26 on twitter)**


	2. Chapter 2

_Chapter 2_

_But I am no poet; I am just a very conscientious recorder._

_We read Romeo and Juliet in the ninth grade. I'd been in some public high school in Georgia at the time, and the English class that the school board had put me in had the combined IQ of about thirty-seven. I'm not sure if one person in the entire class knew what a semi-colon was._

_Romeo and Juliet was a part of the mandatory curriculum. Only I had no idea why. The average ninth grader couldn't have cared less for it, due to the complex language that to some was the equivalent to Chinese. I understood Shakespeare just fine; no, that wasn't my problem. The issue with Romeo and Juliet was, that I thought the entire plot was a pot of mumbo-jumbo._

_I didn't believe in that 'love at first sight' thing. Well, truthfully, I didn't believe in love at all. I thought Romeo was a desperate man-whore, and I thought that Juliet was just plain stupid. But despite how much I hated the play, and despite how stupid Juliet was, I somehow understood how she felt._

_She was trapped; living inside a world she didn't belong in. She was helpless- and no one felt for her or cared enough to try and do something to help her. She was expected to obey the command and marry the douche-bag Paris, regardless of any of her own wishes. She wasn't cared about by anyone but Romeo; and that said a lot about the world even today. The world doesn't really care about you; maybe except for one person._

_The only difference was that, I didn't have a Romeo either._

Spencer woke me up the next morning with a feisty jerk to my ankle, startling me out of my miserable dream. I opened my eyes only to receive a burst blinding light to my sleep-deprived retinas, and then proceeded to shift in response and throw myself off the bus stop bench.

"_Jesus Christ."_ I swore, climbing up off the ground and brushing my knees off. Spencer was already packed up and ready to run, and was still tugging on my arm.

"Come on Aria, move your ass." She glanced out the Plexiglas again. "Before someone sees us."

The sun had hardly finished rising, and at five-thirty a.m. after barely two hours of sleep, my ass didn't want to move very far. I stood up and listened to my bones crackle, flexing my legs. First stop of the day, Orlando-East Community Centre.

The community centre had a gym, a daycare, about eleven birthday party rooms, and a cafeteria. Connected to the gym was one of the biggest public bathrooms I had ever experienced. There were showers there, and if you entered in through the gym entrance, you could use all the facilities without issue.

Spence and I got there by six, the time most of the early-morning exercisers were mid-workout. We slipped into the bathrooms unnoticed, then showered, taking turns so that we could watch our bags and belongings, then dressed and headed off for the day.

The wad of cash I was currently toting couldn't stay with me in the bag I was stashing it in, so I knew my best bet was to drop it off where I knew it would stay; the safe in Jason's apartment where he let me stash my things. I had a nice few things at Jason's; many of us did. His apartment was less of a home to him, and more of a storage locker for those of us who didn't have a home to put things in.

I could probably get away with sitting for two hours and ranting about how hard it was to be on the run, because things _were_ hard and things _did_ suck. It could be justified that I had a reason to complain about how hard it was to not have my own home. How hard it was to steal and do gritty jobs to survive. But, honestly, if I was to spend my life complaining about how life was bad and how my circumstances sucked, it would only be wasting my time. Life, as I already said did suck. Times were hard. And I couldn't say that I smiled as often as I would have liked to be able to. But there's no point in putting desire into something you can't change, and so I stopped hoping for things to ever change and get better. I knew better than to think anyone or anything would ever change the fact I was nothing but society's burden.

I was Aria Montgomery the no-good. Aria Montgomery everyone hated. Aria Montgomery who was a _bad seed_ and who was _that little puke of a foster-kid that no one wanted to take home with them._

And still to this day no one saw me as anything but that.

"When are you going to meet the Fitz guy?" Spencer asked me as we walked cautiously down Jason's street. It was one of those streets- where if you left a car unattended you mightn't get it back. I kicked a crushed beer can into the un-mowed grass of someone's lawn. The air smelled like drugs.

"Tonight," I answered, keeping my head down. These streets provoked too many foul memories; too many ghosts of the six years I spent in a home like these. "I hope he can do what I want him to."

"_I_ hope you're going to be able to pay for it." Spencer said warningly. "I don't know how you're planning on paying for any of this. Let alone getting to Canada."

"I'll handle it." I snapped, growing irritated with her. "Why are you so persistent on trying to talk me out of this?"

Spencer took a moment to decide what she'd answer. "Running away doesn't change the past, Aria."

I rolled my eyes and looked away.

My gaze dropped to one of the porch steps of a rundown apartment, where two small kids were sitting together. They had russet skin and the whitest blond hair, tanned and bleached by the hot Florida sun. I felt a lump in my throat form, watching as they slurped their popsicles, purple juice smeared all over their innocent little faces.

A tremor rocked through me for a second, remembering the last time I had ever eaten a popsicle.

"I'm not running Spence," I said in an attempt to distract myself, turning up Jason's driveway. "I'm just sick of this shit."

Jason was sitting on the step, dirty blond hair in his eyes. He smiled when he saw Kate and I approaching. Ian and Garett, Jason's _disciples_ as I liked to call them, sat around, keeping themselves busy with a card game.

"Sup, Ar?" Jason asked, triumphant grin on his face. His eyes moved to Spencer. "Spence, baby."

Spencer cowered behind me slightly, crossing her arms across her chest.

I gave him a look to back off, knowing that Spencer was always uneasy around him.

"Got away last night." I said, trying not to breathe in the cigarette smoke encircling me. "It was close though. Your distraction was pathetic."

"I saw that you'd already gotten away, and decided it wasn't necessary. You underestimate yourself, you know that Ar?"

I sighed, ignoring the flirty compliment. "Let me put this away?" I held up my bag. "I need some other stuff."

"Go ahead." Jason said, interlocking his fingers and resting them behind his head in the typical relaxation pose. Ian turned from his card game and winked at me.

I let myself into Jason's apartment, overwhelmed by the smell of drugs as you walked in.

_We'd make this quick._

Spencer hurried over to my safe, arms still crossed. "Hurry up, Aria. I want to go."

And so I hurried. And with a change of clothes and most of the money stashed safely in my safe, Spencer and I were off again, heading through the door. It was ironic, you know, because as much trouble and as much of an ass as Jason was, he wasn't a cheat. He'd never taken anything from my safe that wasn't his; and that's why I trusted him.

"Jason?" I asked on the way out, watching as he uncapped a bottle of warm beer from the step. It fizzed as the cap popped off. "If you have any work for me, I'll do it," I offered.

Delivering drugs wasn't something I particularly prided myself in doing. In fact, I hated the fact that I had to do it at all. I didn't like the fact that I tangled myself up into Jason's messy deals trades, but sometimes it was what you had to do. Jason paid me a sufficient amount to do the dirty work; and on the nights when your stomach is growling and your knees are quivering for warmth, the temptation was more than inviting.

Jason nodded. "I'll let you know."

The rest of the day went relatively quickly, Spencer and I spent the day leisurely, trying to avoid the section of town where the store from last night had been. Finally, five o'clock rolled around, and I headed out to meet the Fitz guy at the bar.

I dressed in a Burger King bathroom stall, into my pair of faded turquoise shorts and a white sweater shirt. My auburn hair was pulled into its usual ponytail and I wasn't wearing makeup. My eyes were their usual silvery-blue colour, and even though they tended to stand out, I still looked as bland as a protein bar.

But I went anyway, hoping the meeting would be short and to the point.

_Boy_, was I wrong.

Pablo's Sports Lounge and Bar reeked of body odor, cheap beer and festering hot dogs. The overwhelming smell was enough to churn any weak stomach that dared enter a fifteen-foot radius of the place, and even the strong ones teetered on the edge of vomiting by the appearance of the "meals" that Pablo offered up.

Pablo himself stood there behind the counter, hand wrapped in a dish rag and stuffed inside a beer glass like you'd see in some mob movie. His four-hundred pound body rippled at his jerky movements, and numerous beads of sweat dripped down his temples. Pablo himself was nauseating enough to look at, so I kept my eyes focused in on my glass of beer- only which was foggy and sported a drowned mosquito floating around at the top. I shifted my gaze a second time to the empty stool beside me.

If that son of a bitch didn't show up in the next minutes, I was leaving. Screw him.

"Who you waitin' fo?" Pablo asked, grammar the equivalent to Huckleberry Finn. He moved the enormous wad of gum around in his mouth so he could properly speak. "And where's yo home girl Spencer?" He set the glass he'd been drying down, tossing the rag over his shoulder.

"Stop talking to me." I responded.

Pablo made a face, his chubby visage folding into rolls a 'plenty. I rolled my eyes. He was about as attractive as a rotten turnip.

The massive man crossed his arms across his chest, glaring at me. "Well then, I need yo ID. You ain't no twenty-one, Aria." His mood had soured like milk.

Without changing my aggravated expression, I slipped my hand into my pocket and pulled out two bills.

"Twenty," I slapped down Jackson angrily, followed by Washington. "One."

Pablo made another face. "Dat'll work." He scooped up the money and shoved it into the tip jar. There was no way he was getting those bills into his pocket without a ferocious struggle. I silently sighed in disappointment at the loss of such a potentially comedic show.

I hadn't noticed, but beside me now sat a guy, whose presence automatically filled me with an unexplainable irk. He was leaning over the counter, reaching for a straw.

My eyes roamed up his arm, across his shoulder and finally to his face; and the sight of it hit me like someone had thrown a snowball.

Big, beautiful navy-blue eyes with thick dark lashes. He had a perfectly formed narrow nose and perfect pink lips. The top formed a flawless bow, the bottom was just as cute.

His jaw was equally as beautiful; this guy's bone structure the equivalent, if not superior to James Marsden's. A light stubble covered his beautiful jaw and I felt my mouth run dry. It was almost comical how much this guy's face could theoretically cleanse the mind of Pablo's hideous visage.

The beautiful guy finished fishing his straw from behind the counter and returned to his stool. Pablo, who appeared childishly jealous of the way I'd half drooled over the stranger instantly sat down the glass of beer and turned away, making himself busy at the grimy nacho machine. The guy took one look at it and pushed the watery filth out of the way with a swipe of his hand, and cleared his throat. His head was covered in a mess of short, chocolate curls.

_If he couldn't have been more perfect. He was a fucking Greek god._

He turned his head then, and despite the increase in heart rate I undeniably felt, I kept my face locked into the emotionless setting. We made complete eye contact for longer than I anticipated, until I finally understood why.

And I nearly choked on my saliva.

He was Ezra Fitz. _The dude who sold fake documents to criminals._

I let out a breath to steady myself and looked at him then, a sudden fierceness developing in me.

"You Fitz?" The question wasn't a friendly one. It carried as little emotion, and as little audial curiosity as a child discussing politics.

The corner of his mouth curled up into a crooked half-smile. "Depends on who's asking." He slid his finger around the rim of his untouched beer glass. "Otherwise, you can call me Ezra."

"I prefer Fitz. And you can call me Aria."

He smirked again, and opened his mouth to say something, staring down into his glass of beer he still hadn't drunk from. "Well, Aria, so I hear you're in need of my assistance."

I rolled my eyes, then continued to glare at him. "Nah. I needed a bowling partner."

Fitz or Ezra or whatever the hell I was supposed to call him started laughing, as if to make me even angrier. I shot him a frosty glare and he only smiled at me, showing his dazzling set of perfect teeth.

I wasn't sure if I wanted to punch him or make out with him.

"You're a smart ass, aren't you?" Fitz finally said.

"Get used to it, pal."

Fitz turned away then, staring at Pablo the behemoth. He glanced around the bar, checking for the presence of any peeping toms or listening ears alike. Then, when he realized the coast was clear, his head ducked a little and he scooted his bar stool a little closer to mine.

"So, how old are you?" He asked, looking around. I wasn't sure if he was trying to play off a nonchalant conversation to derive any suspicions by onlookers, or if he was genuinely wondering my age.

"Nineteen," My voice was a deadpan. "You?"

"Twenty-four."

I made a I-don't-really-care-how-old-you-are face and sighed.

"What is it you're looking for me to do for you?" Fitz said then. "And mind the sarcasm. I'd like to try and keep things somewhat professional."

He was even more beautiful up close.

"How quickly can you get me out of the country?" I asked, meeting his steel blue eyes with intensity. "I need documents. A passport."

"Why do you want to get out of the country?" Fitz asked, sounding more curious than professional.

"Why does that matter to you?" I snapped back. He smirked again.

"Do you have a birth certificate?"

I shrugged. "I have no idea."

He looked slightly aggravated at my response. "How do you not know? You either have one or you don't."

"Why is it important?" I challenged, eyebrows knit.

"Because, if you had it, it'd save me a ton of work." Fitz drummed his fingers on the counter. "Are you looking for a false identity? Is that what you want?"

"Yes," My answer was certain. The fact that I was _Aria Montgomery_ was probably one of the biggest ball and chains there was, and if I could have a chance at eliminating that burden, I needed to take it. A false identity sounded like the best option.

"Do you understand the money that we're talking here, Aria?" He asked, voice suddenly serious.

"How much do you want for it?"

"You're looking at a complete set of false legal documents. I'd say, ten?"

"Ten what?"

"Ten grand, Aria."

I nearly choked on my salvia for the second time that night.

"Well then," I said, sliding off my stool, ready to start an argument- a _bargain_. "I guess I'll find someone else to handle this for me."

I went to take step further, shoulders squared.

"Wait-" I heard Fitz's voice say from behind me. I turned, half-smirking, smug that I had won already.

But my high hopes were quickly diminished.

"I hope you realize that ten grand is probably the least you'll end up paying for these services." He said, this time he the one looking smug as my smirk dropped. This time, I was sure I wanted to punch him. "And I doubt you'll find any other person that can do it like I can."

"Too bad you've lost my interest." I shot him a wry smile. "You either drop the price, or I drop you."

Fitz grinned again, looking at me with his beautiful blue eyes. He tilted his head then, and made a face.

"I'll make a deal with you." He raised an eyebrow. "Let me take you out tomorrow. For every question I ask you, that is of course you answer them honestly, I'll drop the price of all the documents one-hundred dollars."

I screwed up my face and nearly choked him, then and there.

"Are you _fucking_ serious."

Fitz smirked again. "How bad do you need to get out of the country?"

I rolled my eyes and refused to look at him. My eyes landed on Pablo, who was busy trying to make it look like he wasn't listening in on mine and Fitz's conversation.

"You're an ass," I spat, turning to glare at him. "And you probably do this to all your female clients, I guess?" I eyed his glass of beer, waiting for the right moment to knock it over him. "I don't fall for stupid."

His eyes suddenly widened, and lost the smug look they'd bored not two seconds earlier.

"No," He looked disgusted. "Do you understand the typical client that I deal with, Aria?"

I knit my eyebrows and shook my head, still glaring at him.

"Then what's your deal?"

Fitz shrugged. "You're interesting." It was as if that made everything make sense. "And, if the only way you'll let me get to know you better is through bargain, then so be it."

"So you're desperate enough to take out a criminal."

Fitz looked me straight in the eyes then, capturing my gaze. My teeth sunk into my lip.

"I've worked with enough convicts to be considered an expert. I can read people. And Aria, you may have done some things you aren't proud of; we all have, but I know you are not a criminal."

"Where do you get the nerve to think you know anything I'm capable of?"

Fitz gave me a look then, eyes soft, lips slightly parted. "There's remorse in your eyes. You're different than the rest of them."

I didn't answer then, instead I turned away and debated. I needed to leave. Maybe I didn't have any other choice.

"That means if you ask me one hundred questions, you'll get me the papers for free?"

He raised an eyebrow and smiled his beautiful smile. This time it wasn't a smug grin or a condescending smirk, it was a genuine smile. And this time I wanted to make out with him.

"What time tomorrow?" I said, refusing eye contact.

"I can pick you up at eight?" He offered.

"I'm not getting into a car with you."

He chuckled. "I'll meet you at The Pizza Piazza tomorrow at eight."

"Fine."

_Real cool, Aria._

And so, that was the conclusion to the meeting. All I had to do was answer one hundred bogus questions, I could get the documents I needed, all for free. Then I could leave Florida and never have to look at this place or its haunting place again. Jason, Hanna, Emily, Garett and Ian, all the foul people I'd encountered would be out of my hair, and I would have to live like this anymore.

All I had to do was talk.

And that, ladies and gentleman, was the day that Ezra Fitz spiralled face-first into the mess I called my life.

**Hi! I wanted to just say thanks so much for the reviews and tweets. I appreciated them so much, and some even made me cry. I really appreciate the kind words. So thanks!**

**This chapter is dedicated to Kate because I love her and she's an amazing writer. Check her fanfiction! Sleepoversat3B**

**We will find out about Aria's past; don't worry. I promise not to be cliché and drag it out. The next chapter will be up soon and it's without a doubt one of my favorites. HINT: This story is about to become very, very Ezria.**

**Please leave me feedback! It makes me smile so much.**


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